


A Study in a Different Shade of Pink

by Blanca_Angelic_Loveless



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate pre-canon, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanca_Angelic_Loveless/pseuds/Blanca_Angelic_Loveless
Summary: Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade is not as observant as Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes. Otherwise, Lestrade could have deduced that there was another person living in 221B, rather than finding out the way he had, which worked out well for exactly no one- and wait.Did the half naked man just come out of Sherlock’s bedroom?





	1. A Study in a Different Shades of Pink

**Author's Note:**

> I know there's a lot of spelling errors, I typed this on my phone an it's got a lot of opinions with auto correct, and I have a hard to fixing it (seriously it changed like three things in this message alone) so I'll fix them later. Sorry
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> **  
> _Don't forget to comment!!!_  
> 

_Fri, Jan 29th, 10:32am_  
_I saw Mike Stanford this morning. He says hello._  
_-SH_  
_\------_  
_10:33am_  
_He asked after you, and I told him about what happened, I hope that's alright. He sends his “best wishes” for your recovery._  
_-SH_  
_\-----_  
_10:45am_  
_Text me back when you wake up._  
_-SH_  
_\-----_  
_12:49pm_  
_I'm awake_  
_\-----_  
_If you've been asleep since I left the flat, then it's well past time for you take your medications._  
_-SH_  
_\-----_  
_12:55pm_  
_Don't wanna move_  
_\-----_  
_And I don't care if you talked to Mike_  
_\-----_  
_Then shout for Mrs. Hudson, I'm sure she'd be happy to bring it to you._  
_-SH_  
_\-----_  
_12:56pm_  
_And a glass of water, and some food. Eat something._  
_-SH_  
_\-----_  
_1:12pm_  
_I shouted she came. I'm going back to sleep._  
_\-----_  
_She's not our housekeeper though._  
_\------_  
_1:13pm_  
_I'll be home in a little while. Sleep well. Love you._  
_-SH_  
_\-----_  
_1:23pm_  
_Love you_  
_\-----_  
_Sat, Jan 30th, 8:37pm_  
_What happened at Lauriston Gdns? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland St. Please Come._  
_\-----_  
_(One missed call, 8:38pm)_  
_\-----_

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade is not as observant as Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes. This is why he's come to Sherlock for help on the first place, when they find the fourth victim of a serial suicide case has left a note. But never mind that, were he as observant as Sherlock, he wouldn't be coming to Sherlock in the first place, because more to the point: were he as observant as the consulting detective, he would have noticed when he came asking for Sherlock’s help, that there were more dishes in the sink than usual, that there were things laying around the flat that obviously didn't belong to Sherlock, that a door closed quietly from behind the kitchen while Sherlock was talking with him, that Sherlock left with him while there was still water for tea was boiling in a kettle on a stove. Then Lestrade could have _deduced_ that there was another person living in 221B, rather than finding out the way he had, which worked out well for exactly no one.

As it was, Lestrade only realised that there was another bloke living in 221B when, about three minutes into his and his team's impromptu drugs bust, said block emerged from the room behind the kitchen looking half dead and very pissed off. The man was short but muscular, blond, and wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. And as he was wearing nothing else, the large not-yet-scar from what looked like a bullet wound on both sides of his shoulder, and the sleek and expensive-looking prosthetic piece replacing the man's right leg up to just above the knee, were both very visible to everyone.

“What the Hell are all of you doing in my flat!?” The man shouted, arms crossed, and back ridged, completely awake now. He commanded absolute authority- and wait.

Did the half naked man just come out to _Sherlock’s_ bedroom?

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, this is drugs bust,” Greg said, trying to keep his composure despite his bafflement, while his team slowly started to abandoned their own half-started search in order to watch the exchange.

“Captain John Watson, and no it's not!” The shorter man said. “Sherlock’s clean, you know he is! Youre just here for the pink case. He left it in the living room, so take it and get out.”

“And who do think you a-” Anderson started say, just as they all heard the front door slam shut, and someone stomping up the stairs.

“What are you doing!?” Came Sherlock’s voice. “I swear if you've woken up- John…” The last word came as a regretful sigh as Sherlock rounded the corner and spotted John standing there in the kitchen.

“Hi. Yeah. Very awake.” John said to Sherlock, waving at him a little sarcastically.

“Damnit. What are you doing here!?” Sherlock rounded on Lestrade then, looking furious. It almost scared him. Almost.

“Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid,” he said calmly, knowing he did have the upper hand, seeing as the pink case _was_ on the coffee table in the living room.

“You can't just break into our flat!” protested the consultant.

“And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat.”

“Well, what do you call this then?” Sherlock gestured around him at all the officers.

“It's a drugs bust," Greg repeated. Sure, the other man hadn't believed it, and Greg did know Sherlock was clean, but hopefully it might scare Sherlock into behaving when helping an investigation if he knew they would start searching his flat like this.

Immediately Sherlock turned to the other man, John, and came to stand very close to him, looking more apologetic and worried then Lestrade had ever seen- if he'd ever seen the man look such a way at all. “John, I swear to you I am _not-”_

“It's alright, I know,” the man said calmly, soothingly, leaning back against the counter now, taking some of the pressure off his leg, Greg thought. He didn't seem at all bothered by Sherlock proximity, and Greg was starting to see a surprising picture here. “But I _told you_ to call them on your way Angelo's, so that they _wouldn't_ come busting in here and waking me up. I only just manager to drift off, Sherlock.”

“I'm sorry John, I got distracted thinking.” No really, who was this John, because Sherlock’s behavior was starting to scare him.

A found sort of smile came over John's lips as he said, “Yeah, you're always doing that…”

He rolled his eyes in a way that said _“what ever am I going to do with you?”_ that had Greg saying, in shock, “And who exactly are you again!?”

Both men seemed to remember there were others in a room, and the man a dressed them, more amiable than before. “Sorry, right. Dr. John Watson. I’m uh, a friend of Sherlock’s."

"John's an army doctor. He's recently been invalided home from Afghanistan- _obviously._ I thank you all ever so kindly for waking him, it's not as if he needed the rest." Sherlock spat at no one in particular. "If you're all still here under the pretence of a drugs bust, there's several painkillers and antibiotics for John in the bathroom cabinet that I will thank you to confiscated as well.”

Well that did explain the shoulder and the leg, Lestrade thought to himself, not at all phased by Sherlock snappy attitude. 

“You seem a bit more then _friends_ if you ask me.” Anderson mutter from the living room entrance.

“Funny, because I can't _remember_ asking you.” John bit back imidiantly.

“Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?” Sherlock snapped.

“Oh, I volunteered.” Anderson answered smugly.

“They all did.” Lestrade cut in. “They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen.”

“Oh, so not only did you wake me up for a drugs bust with no actual probable cause, but you're not even using actual properly trained officers?” John asked with a bitter laugh.

“Right! Are you okay John? Your leg, your shoulder…?” Sherlock was all over John then, inspecting his shoulder, his eyes, his temperature if the hand on John's forehead was anything to go by.

“Not any worse off then I have been- get up you!” John pulled Sherlock up by his coat collar from where he crouched in front of the man to examine his leg. “I'm just miffed at being so rudely awaken, but now that I _am_ awake, I'm going to go get dressed.” If the whole room hadn't been watching they probably would have missed the lightening-quick peck John left on Sherlock’s cheek as he pushed past the taller man. “Don't be too clever until I get back, yeah?”

Ignoring Sally's muttered comment of “Freak's actually got a boyfriend, I don't believe it…” Greg cleared his throat.

“You gonna help us properly, then? We've found Rachel,” he says, deciding that getting down to business is the only proper thing to to in this situation.

They established that Rachel was Jennifer Wilson stillborn daughter, Anderson got in a few derogatory quips accusing Sherlock of being a murderer, a psychopath, and sociopath respectively while John was getting dressed. Sherlock was just insisting that it was more than just thinking about her daughter Jennifer Wilson was doing when she died, when John re-emerged, now wearing jeans, boots, a comfortable looking jumper, and his leather jacket. Only Sherlock noticed the gun tucked away at his side, and that paired with him wearing his jacket, meant John was prepared to go _out_ , for the first time in _weeks,_ to help Sherlock on the case.

Sherlock smiled to himself minutely. He'd known at least some of John's pains had to be psychosomatic at this point, but he hadn't been willing to say anything. Now though, now there was too much excitementright in front of him for John to possibly go lay back down. Adrinialine and adventure, that's all John need at this moment to break the nasty depression he'd sunk into since returning home.

“You said earlier that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it.” John said, coming to stand by Sherlock. “Well, maybe he... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.”

“Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?... Was that not good?” Sherlock trailed off at the disappointed look on Watson’s face.

“Bit not good, yeah.” John nodded. Lestrade had to say, he was really enjoying having this John guy around, he didn't even have to try in order to put Sherlock back in his place. It was amazing.

“Yeah, but when you were dying, John… When you were being murdered: in your very last few seconds what did you say?”

If the people standing all around the flat hadn't already been silently watching the two, there would have been a gaping silence all around after that. Many people, Lestrade included, looked from John's shoulder to his leg, getting a clearer picture then ever of Sherlock's flatmate.

“‘Please, God, let me live.’” John deadpanned without missing a beat. Guilt flooded Sherlock’s expression again.

“Ye-yes. Sorry. Alright, that's what you were thinking. I'm sure it's what Jennifer Wilson was thinking too, but you're both are so much more clever than that.” Sherlock took John by the upper arms, carefully of shoulder. “You both knew your murders, and you knew you wouldn't be the last victims. Neither of you wanted your death to be in vain. _You_ kept them furious with and focused on you so they wouldn't hurt anyone else on your squadron, and _she_ is trying to tell us something, in order to get her murder caught! ”

“Isn't the doorbell working?” The landlady, Mrs. H-something, was standing in the doorway now but everyone, Lestrade included, was too distracted by Sherlock to take any notice. “Your taxi's here, Sherlock.”

“I didn't order a taxi. Go away.” Sherlock dismissed her, without turning around.

“Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?”

“They're calling it a 'drugs bust',” John rolled his eyes.

“But they're just for my hip- and your leg, they can't-”

“Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off.”

“What? My face is?!” Anderson snapped.

“Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.” Lestrade commanded, recognizing Sherlock was onto something.

“John, come back here, I need to think," Sherlock said, pulling John back infront of him, holding his still by his arms.

"What am I meant to do?" John asked, just as suprised as everyone.

"That thing that you do! It helps me think!" Sherlock replied cryptically.

"What thing? The thing where I stand here and you talk half-realised abuse at me until you come up with something clever, or the one where you stand there and _I_ talk completely intended abuse at you until you claim I was the clever one?" John said, somewhere between serious and teasing. God what a weird relationship they must have, Lestrade thought.

"The one where you shut up will do nicely, thanks." Sherlock said, still looking at only John, who was looking back at the other with a thoroughly _done_ expression. It would have all been almost funny if the situation wasn't so tense. If they weren't trying to catch a murderer.

“What about your taxi?” The landlady insisted.

“Mrs Hudson!- Oh…” Sherlock shouted and then immediately forgot about the woman in the wake of his realization, still looking at John. “Ah! She _was_ clever like you John, yes!-" now he turned away from John to look at everyone else around the room. "She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer.”

“But how?” Lestrade asked, getting tired of Sherlock's half-explanations.

“Wha...? What do you mean, 'how'? Rachel! Don't you see? Rachel! Oh, look at this lot, John. They’re all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a _name.”_ Sherlock drawled.

“What is it then, Mr. I'm So Clever?” John asked.

“John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address.” Sherlock snapped his fingers behind him expectantly as he pulled open his own laptop at the desk by the wall.

“Jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk.” John read without hesitation, coming to stand behind Sherlock’s chair.

Sherlock berated himself for being slow as Lestrade watched him pull up the Mephone website. Sherlock explained how the woman didn't have a laptop, so she had to do all her work on her phone. He typed the email John had read into a username box, then moved to type in a password.

“And all together now, the password _is... ?”_ Sherlock prompted.

“Rachel,” John said, impressed.

“So we can read her e-mails. So what?” Anderson said, watching Sherlock successfully log into the woman's mephone account.

“Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street.” Lestrade heard John snort rather loudly just then and Sherlock, though he hadn't been trying to one-up Anderson, smirked in satisfaction. “We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone. It's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her.”

“Unless he got rid of it?” Lestrade wondered out loud. That's what _Lestrade_ would have done.

“We know he didn't.” John told the Detective Inspector, taking over Sherlock’s place in front of the computer as Sherlock jumped up and started pacing.

“Come on, come on. Quickly!” Sherlock said, and despite his plea for silence, there was a low hum about the room as everyone beginning murmuring all at once.

“Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver…” The landlady had returned.

“Mrs. Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?” Sherlock snapped at her.

“Stopping being rude to her…” John chided half-heartedly as the GPS page loaded.

“We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter.” Sherlock started commanding, ignoring John. “We're gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won't last forever!”

“We'll just have a map reference, not a name.” Lestrade said, trying to remind Sherlock he was in charge by not immediately jumping into action.

“It's a start!”

“Sherlock…” John muttered.

“It narrows it down from just anyone in London!” Sherlock went on ignoring his… boyfriend- whatever, didn't matter in that moment. Focus Lestrade! “It's the first proper lead that we've had!”

“Sherlock…” John said a bit more insistently. Sherlock rushed back over to John, leaning over the man's shoulder, very much in John's space, as both arms came on either side of the man, palms on the armrests so he would lean in closer. And yeah. Sherlock’s got a boyfriend. Right. Nevermind the murder mystery, how the Hell did that happen?

“What is it? Quickly, where?” Sherlock insiste, unaware of Lestrade’s - and everyone’s- eyes fixed on them.

“It's here. It's in Two-Two-One Baker Street.”

“How can it be here? How?” Sherlock leaned in closer to the screen, accidentally putting just enough pressure on John's shoulder to make him hiss in pain, and make Sherlock jolt back with a quick apology.

“Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere?” Lestrade suggested.

“What, and I didn't notice it? Me? I didn't notice?”

“Anyway, we texted her phone earlier from mine, and he called us back.” John said, standing from the chair.

“Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim…” Lestrade instructed anyway, and the sound of shuffling feet and moving objects was added to the cacophony of sounds slowing starting to fill 221B.

“Who do we trust, even if we don't know them John?” Sherlock murmuted, taking John my the arms again, to talk at him. “Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?”

Sherlock’s phone went off, but as Lestrade had gone about helping search for the pink lady’s phone, he only half heard John and Sherlock’s following conversation, and wouldn't processes that he'd heard it, until much later that night.

“Sherlock, you okay?” John asked, trying to read the text message as Sherlock backed away.

“What? Yeah, yeah... I-I'm fine.” Sherlock muttered. Anyone paying attention would have seen the way the two were standing just a little too casually still in the flat now.

“So, how can the phone be here?” John asked stiffly.

“Dunno...”

“I'll try it again, then?”

“Good idea.” Lestrade barely notice Sherlock voice had moved towards the stairs as he looked behind a large pile of Russian books in the corner.

“Where are you going?” John asked, his voice moved back to the chair in front of the laptop.

“Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Vatican Cameos. Won't be long…”

And because Sherlock said it just oh so casually, and because everyone was so busy wasting there time, no one noticed the odd little phrase slipped right in there like it belonged, or how John’s back went rigid as he called out “Alright, Sherlock,” after the quickly disappears man.

Several minute later, Lestrade notices Sherlock had gone missing.

“He got in the cab.” John says, now typing something up on his own smartphone- a gift from Sherlock for returning home alive, but none of Scotland Yard knows this.

“We're wasting our time!” Donovan growls in frustration.

“Yeah, we did tell you that.” John says, still typing something on his phone.

“You knew he got in the cab and didn't say anything?” Lestrade barked.

“You were busy wasting your time, and Sherlock and I have an agreement not to argue when the other want to go to war.” John answered cryptically, but Greg understands all the same. The part of who went to war and who wanted to argue, not the part where Sherlock is apparently in the back of a cab with the killer, driving off to his death, and John seems fine with it.

“Does it matter? Does any of it?” Donovan shoves in. “You know, he's just a lunatic, and he'll always let you down, and you're wasting your time. All our time.”

“Oi!” John shouts, getting the attention of every officer in the flat as his focus zeros in on the woman. “Watch your mouth in my house! If you could have solved this bloody case on your own you wouldn't be here, so I think it's the rest of you lot that are the disappointment!”

“Don't you-”

“Donavan don't!” Lestrade snapped. “Get out! In fact, everybody get out, we're done here.”

Once everyone had finally cleared out of 221B, Lestrade turned to John. “Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?”

“Curiousity. Anyway, Wilson’s phone is in the cab, and I'm tracking it on my phone, so if you'd like to drive us, I figure we better go rescue my idiot genius.” John started walking towards the stairs. Lestrade only just notice the way the man limped ever so slightly, and remember his leg.

“You sure you're safe to go-”

“I was an army doctor, I'm not a civilian, I'll be fine!” he calls as he rounds the corner of the stairs and disappears. Then Lestrade hears a thud, a swear of "Damnit my leg!" and the sound of John continuing loudly down the stares before he thinks to move after him.

“See _that's_ what I mea- Oh what the use?”

\---

“Left, take a left here.” John says from the passenger seat next to Greg as they rush after Sherlock.

“So, I gotta ask,” Greg says and he takes the turn, thanking God for the sirens on top of the car as he barely slows down for the turn. “How'd you and Sherlock end up- you know?”

“Dating?” John prompts.

“Yeah. He never really seemed the type.”

“Well you've only known him five years, that’s one more that me, and that first year I imagine he was too high to notice anyone else, and after that I should hope he wasn't noticing anyone elseen but me.”

“So you do know, about the drugs?” Lestrade asked. He'd figured as much, but it would have really, really sucked to have been the one that break it to the guy his boyfriend used to be a junkie.

“Yeah- take a right, quick! Quick here!- We met at rehab.”

“You?!” Lestrade asks, because that did really, really surprised him.

“Oh! No, I was on Leave, and my sister was trying to get sober- alcohol with her- take another right up there at the light. They were in the same facility, and so one day me and her now-ex-wife Clara were visiting, and she says ‘come on guys, you've got to come meet this new bloke, he knows _everything.’_ So he's there in the visitor's room, and Harry just pulls us up to where he's abolutally _not_ visiting with his brother, and says ‘Sherlock, Sherlock, do the thing!’ Seriously you think Sherlock has not social skills, my sister! Uh… keep going straight here.

“So anyway, he "does the thing" on Clara, which amount to a half a minute of half-veiled insult. And then he does it one me with surprisingly less venom. He could tell I'd been on leave, that I wasn't sleeping well, that I'd dressed in a hurry, you know what he does. Take a left, I know where we're going now.

“So of course, I'm stunned, and I say ‘that was amazing.’ He says ‘really?’, I say ‘yeah, extraordinary, _quite_ extraordinary.’ I'm completely hook right then. He says ‘that's not what people normally say’ ‘well what I they normally say?’ ‘piss off’.

“I talked with him and his brother for a minute, then excuse myself because Clara and Harry had wondered off- Take a left now. So I see him every time we'd go to visit Harry for the next few months, a lot of the time they're already sitting together, and Sherlock'd “do his thing” and we'd visit.

“Well a few weeks after Harry gets out, I get a text message that says _‘Harry gave me your number. Want to hang out? -SH’_ And like two minutes later- God what did it say? It just went on and on. It said something like… _‘you're under no obligation of course, to even respond. I completely understand if you don't want to bother associating with a recently recovered addict, especially given the statistically probably off relapse in addicts this early on, but I did promise your sister not to relapse in order to gain your number, and I feel it would be worth sobriety to get to know you. People say “friends” help with this sort of thing, and as your first words to me weren't ‘piss off’ I figure that's as good as start as any. -SH’_ And I mean, how was it gonna say no to that?”

“So _he_ asked _you_ out?” Greg asked, grinning ear to ear at the very idea.

“Well sort of,” John laughed. “It wasn't date, we didn't just _start_ dating, but we hung out. His idea of hanging out though- he took me running around the city chasing someone down, just like this- I don't even remember what we doing, but it was the most fun I'd had in ages. So we hung out, sometimes with Clara and Harry, sometimes without. Most of the time I picked what we did, but I did love- Right, take a right, we're almost there.

“I did love getting into trouble with him. He loves mysteries and I love adventure, so it waorked perfect. Well then three months later, I had to return to Afghanistan, so we kept in touch with letters, I tell him all the stuff I could, and told him if he's guessing all the rest of it, he better not write it in a letter or else I'll get in trouble. He told me about all the mysteries he solved, people he'd helped- pages and pages of handwritten letters, detailing every bit of exactly how he figured everything out…”

John trails off as he and Lestrade spot a cab parked on the curb. The both of them get out quickly, and even though they ought to have each taken one of the buildings when the find no one in the cab, in their panic they both enter the same one, running up the halls, slamming open every door in search of their missing friend.

“John! John in here!” Lestrade calls from one room, and hearing his panic John rushed in behind the DI, expecting to see any number of terrible thing- Sherlock fighting for his life, or already dead. What he sees is almost worse, if only because it means John is helpless to do anything. Sherlock’s alright, only talking with the killer- who it's easy to guess is the cabbie, now- but their _in the other building._

“Christ,” says Lestrade taking a step towards the door, but deciding against it in favor of being able to see Sherlock through the window right now. “What are we gonna do, back-ups on their way, but they might not make in it time.”

“It okay, they're just talking now, I think they'll be fine- shit no, what is he doing!?” John and Greg watch as the cabbie’s mouth moves, talking to Sherlock as the other man's hand moves slowly toward his mouth. “Christ he's gonna do it- he- shit Sherlock!”

Lestrade jumps back as John produces a handgun out of _fucking nowhere,_ and fires it at the window. By the time his head turns the Cabbie’s already fallen to ground out of sight, and it’s obvious Sherlock’s now yelling at him.

“You- you're not allowed to have that, it's against the law! You just killed a man!” Lestrade shouts as John clicks the safety back on, and calmly tucks the gun back under his jumper.

“Yes I am, and no, I didn't.” John says, mimicking his earlier words before he turns to walk out of the room and down the hall back the way they'd come.

“Yes you did, I saw you!” Lestrade follows after him, too shocked to do anything proper, like arrest the man.

“Have you ever met Sherlock’s brother?” John asks in an even tone.

Gregs to shocked to do anything besides answer honestly. “Well, yeah, why?”

“Well, on behalf of the British Government, I can assure you, you didn't see anything. You came up here alone 'cause you made me wait in the car. You heard the gunshot and came up here, but the room was empty by the time you got here. Now I'm going to go, I wasn't here.” Then John starts to run, and Lestrade vaguely registers that he's no longer limping.

Lestrade gets swept up in doing his job once the other officers finally show up, that he doesn't actually find Sherlock until much later, when he's been seated in the back of an ambulance and given a bright orange shock blanket. He notes that Watson has snuck back onto the other side of the caution tape, and is talking with Donovan as he approaches Sherlock.

“Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me,” is the first thing Sherlock says when he spots the DI.

“Yeah, it's for shock.” Lestrade says.

“I'm not in shock.” he protests.

“Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs.”

“So, the shooter. No sign?” The slight up-curve to Sherlock’s lip as he changes the subject tells Lestrade that Sherlock does actually know it was John, and he knows Lestrade knows it was John.

“Yeah, he uh, cleared off before I could get there. But a guy like that cabbie, he would have had enemies, I suppose… One of them could have been following him but... got nothing to go on…” Lestrade trails off.

“I trust John's already explained why you'll need to keep quiet.” Sherlock says, and it's a small relief that they're not pending at this moment.

“Not really!” he hisses. “He gave me a vague threats-of-consequences with your brother! Sherlock he shot a man and didn't flinch, are you sure he's not dangerous, I mean what the Hell?”

“He's a soldier,” Sherlock reasons. “He's highly acclimated to intense-pressure situations, where he's forced into making split-second, life-or-death divisions. He wasn't acting in cold blood, he was defending me, and he isn't unaffected because he some kind of psychopath. I guarantee you he'll wake up screaming at least once tonight, _at least."_ Sherlock hops up to stand at his full height, and walks away, towards where John was standing, by himself now as Donovan's walked off at some point.

“And where're you going?” Greg moves to follow.

“John and I need to talk about the rent.” Sherlock tells him, like that's a perfectly logical thing to do at a crime scene.

“But I've still got questions for you.”

“Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!” he ruffled the bright thing in emphasis.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade warns as he catches up. Sherlock stops and leans in close before Lestrade can say anymore.

“And... we did just catch you a serial killer... more or less.” Sherlock pleads.

“...Okay.” Lestrade sighs, resigning because this John Watson is bringing out an entirely new side of Sherlock, a more human side, that Lestrade never thought he'd see. “We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go.”

Sherlock walked off briskly.

“Good shot,” he says with a smile as he comes up to John, ducking under the yellow tape. “You cold?” he opens his arms, offering to share his shock blanket with John as his soldier’s breath mists in the cold January air.

“No, I'm not bloody cold! Sherlock what the Hell were you thinking! Were you seriously just going to take that pill!?” John hisses, trying not to raise his voice too high.

Oh, they're doing this here then.

“Course I wasn't. I was biding my time. I knew you'd turn up.”

“That's not the _point!_ Jesus Sherlock, do you know how bad that terrified me!? Not just you with a killer, but you with a drug in your hand, an inch from lips!”

“Oh. Oh I see. I'm sorry John, sincerely… I admit the temptation was there, but I really wasn't going to take the pill John, I wouldn't risk my life like that, I’ve promised you that before. Are you sure you're alright?” Sherlock asks, seeing John start to shift from one leg to the other as the adrenaline began to wear off, and his leg starts to pain him.

“Yes, of course I'm all right.” John sighs, clearly too tired argue anymore he leans in close to Sherlock, letting himself get wrapped up in the warm blanket.

“Well, you have just killed a man.”

“Yes, I… That's true, isn't it? But he wasn't a very nice man.”

“No. No, he wasn't really, was he?” Sherlock agrees.

“And frankly a bloody awful cabbie.” John adds, his voice lighter now as its muffled by Sherlock shirt.

“That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!” That sends the two of them into a terrible giggle fit.

“Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!” John tries to say, pulling out of Sherlock’s arms just enough to look him in the eyes.

“You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me.” Sherlock struggles to keep the grin off his face, glad John was alright for the moment. “Dinner?”

“Starving.”

"Chinese?” Sherlock suggests.

“Take away, though. My leg’s starting to hurt.”

“Sure." And then over John's head, Sherlock spots a familiar face. "John, did you call my brother!?”

"Oh yeah..."


	2. 221Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little something to tide y'all over while I finish up the rewrite of the blind banker (If anyone can think of a better punny title than "The Bi Banker" I would MUCH appreciate you suggesting it.)

So of course Greg looks the guy up. Sherlock my be an arse, and can take care of himself, but Greg worries. And Sherlock would totally harbor a lunatic criminal in his flat if he thought the guy was neat!

So, Dr. John H. Watson. Every thing he'd already known- soldiers, doctor, injured in Afghanistan- it all checks out when Lestrade looks him up in the system, but it's what he find when he looks the guy up on the internet that's interesting. It's not bad or anything, it's just a blog, but it's surprisingly _interesting._

The Homepage is simple, the title says “The Personal Blog of Sherlock Homes and John Watson” with a picture of a genuinely smiling John and a begrudgingly smiling Sherlock right next to him as the profile picture. There's a counter off to one side that flickers every now and again to indicate the number of people visiting the webpage. There's a photo gallery, and a list of the most popular posts as well. The Bio section is brief and says simply.

_‘Updated Jan, 30th 2010._

_My name's John Watson, I'm a retired army doctor. This blog chronicles the frankly ridiculous adventures of my best friends boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock is a Consulting Detective, which means he solved crimes for a living, so a lot of these posts read like a Detective story, but they are real, and if you feel we can be of any help to you in some way, feel free to email us. There's a grading scale of 1-10 at the bottom of the homepage, try to rate your case in the email, but honestly I think it just depends how fickle he what's to be that day, so good luck._

The first post, when Lestrade finds it far to the bottom of John's posts, is from several years ago. It's titled _‘Since Everybody Else Has One’ and the actual post reads;_

_‘My sister Harry set this up for me since all our friends seem at have gotten one while I was away. Not so sure I'm going to actually keep it up while I'm here, but…_

_‘Yeah I don't know. I haven't done anything since I've been home.’_

There were several comments under that from various people asking how John was liking the army, and how he'd been, and if he'd be home for Christmas.

The next post was titled _‘How’_ and was just the sentence _‘How do I delete this?’_ Followed by _‘(Edit) Look Harry, I'm writing my blog. Happy now?’_ followed by several suggestions in a comments, all of which John replied to with _‘it didn't work’ ‘no, that didn't either’ ‘no, that just lets me edit it’_ and finally _‘Whatever, I'm just going to leave it.’_

There was a long pause in updates, about a year and a half, but the next after that was title _‘Since Everybody's Asking’_ and simply said he'd just gotten back from Afghanistan for a time, he was doing well, and that he, his sister, and his sister’s new wife had gone out for dinner last night as a welcome back present. There was more chatter in the comments of this one, as people asked more questions, and John actually answered.

After reading for a bit Lestrade thinks he kinda liked the guy. He had a dry sense of humor, was very witty, and did seem genuinely nice. Lestrade kept reading. There were several short post after that one, for a couple of months, before one said _‘Shipping Back Out. Talk To You Soon’_

The next round wasn't for almost another year. The first one was a simple _‘I'm Back Again’_ post that read _‘Still enjoying the army, but it's nice to be home for a while. I'm staying with Clara while Harry's in rehab. I'm not sure what I say, so Q &A anyone?’_ to which people responded with plenty of questions for John, and well wishes for Harry.

Then the week after that was _‘So I Met this Really Weird Guy Today’_

And here Lestrade pauses, because he remembers John telling him about how he'd met Sherlock while he and John's sister had been in rehab together. So this was clearly the post he'd written that day, and suddenly Greg felt like he was prying, because yeah, he'd know Sherlock longer than John, and John had told him the story already, but Lestrade’s already verified that Watson is a perfectly respectable man, so isn't he just snooping at this point? And then he spots the title of the next blog entry, from a couple of months later.

_‘I Think I Just Helped Dismantle A Drug Cartel’_

Well, the blog is public domain…

_‘Okay, so remember that guy I met a few months ago?...”_

And then Lestrade proceeds to spend the rest of his day reading about exactly what Sherlock Holmes does on cases when he escapes the Yard’s watch. Honestly they're both lucky the hadn't been shot- or well, kill more like… Anyway, most of the posts are written by John, and have clever little titles, and Lestrade even recognized some of the cases- ones John wrote about but hadn't actually been around for- as ones he himself had asked Sherlock to help with. John mercifully leaves out important names and places.

Then he comes across one, which reads _'John is a Terrible and Unreliable Narrator: Part 1.’_

_‘I've been reluctantly reading these post for months now, as everyone seems to think it what a "good" boyfriend should do, and it's unbelievable how little detail John really gives you all into how my deductions work- too focused on romanticizing my superior intellect and the adventurous nature of my cases. And since he insists no one is going to ready my blog, I'll just have to explain it to all of you here._

_So to start: How I My Deductions Work-’_

Lestrade scrolls down here, and upon seeing that Sherlock apparently hacked his boyfriend’s account- as he admits to having figured out John's password in the comments, and then proceeds to explain the process right there in the comments- and written a freaking essay about himself, Lestrade elects not to read any of it. The next five posts are titled _'John is a Terrible and Unreliable Narrator'_ Parts 2-6. Greg doesn't read any of those either.

Greg will not be ashamed to admit he spends the next few days reading through all the stories as well as the personal post that both John and Sherlock post- Sherlock’s with a much more reluctant and sarcastically toned. No one else at the Yard will be ashamed to admit such either.

Throughout the few years the blog has been up, it's easy to see the Consulting Detective and his Doctor have amass quite the following, as each new post- both the personal and the ones documenting Sherlock’s brilliance- has more comments froms people that “just stumbled across it” or were “sent by a friend and don't regret checking it out!” than the previous. People ask them all sorts of questions in the comments, about the couple’s relationship as much as asking them to “solve my mysteries please!!.” The later often responded to with “send us an email with the details, there's a link on the homepage.” At first any that ask for more details, Sherlock responds to with a great amount of detail, but as comments have a word count, and Sherlock tended to rant, eventually case posts start getting posted in double, one from those that like the stories from John, and one from Sherlock for those that like hearing all the analytical details. Eventually he comes across the post from about a year ago that documents the change in the blog's title from “The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson” to “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” There are several complaints in the comments of this post, all from Sherlock- and all effectly drowns out by the hundreds that loved the new name. Greg amusingly suspects that Sherlock probably complained a lot more in real life about the ludicousity of the title change, which probably prompted the next post announcing yet another title change, this time to its current title

By the end of the week Lestrade gets to the end and finds the most recent post, posted the day after the incident with the cabbie.

_‘221Back For Good!’ it's titled._

_‘That's right! I’m back in London for good!_

_‘A lots happened since the last time we've talked, I'm not sure where to begin. At least Sherlock’s been keeping the blog up somewhat, I'll see if I can't romanticize those cases for those of you who like my versions better._

_‘I suppose I'll start with why I'm back for good. In short, I was injured. I'm not going to talk about it in detail, at least not here, not yet. It happened in June, it wasn't pretty and that's all I'm saying for now. I spent a while in hospital fighting off infection and, well... getting used to not having a leg. Yup, that's right. I lost my leg, right above the knee- but worry not! I've got a great prosthetic (in fact I took it for a nice test run last night, but that's a story for another post ;)) and I'm physically as healthy as a horse once again._

_So why haven't I been posting since I've been home!? I hear you typing in the comments already. Well it's simple. Physically well does not always mean perfectly well, and sometimes, even when there's someone there to catch you as you fall, it's not always enough and you can just sort of… sink. Getting a bit serious for a moment, I just want to tell anyone out there that suffered from depression, or PTSD, or any mental illness, that it's okay to ask for help if you need it, no matter how, maybe, afraid you are or strong you want to be. We all need help sometimes, and Sherlock’s been an amazing support for me, just like I'm sure someone can be for you. With everything that's happened, I can honestly say I don't know where I'd be without him here to look after me these last few months. So take it from me, if you need help than seek it, those that love you will be happy to help. Whatever you think of yourself when your at your lowest, know that you matter and you are loved._

_‘But I’m write this post to celebrate! so back to, well, I'm back! I get to stay with Sherlock in our new flat for good, and that's too amazing to put into words. He's moved again since I was last home, and it's a perfect little place in central London. The landlady is sweet, and we get a special deal on rent because Sherlock’s helped her out in the past. The flat is on the first floor though, so it's been fun learning to navigate that with this leg._

_‘Now for the part I'm sure you're all curious about. Have there been any interesting cases lately that neither of us have posted about? Well yes there has infact, most have been getting typed up by Sherlock as I've been, we'll say less then interest. But even if I'd tried I couldn't have ignored last night's case, as it literally barged it's way into my flat and gave me quite the rude walkening. I won't given anything away before I post the story itself, but I will say this: there was a lot of pink._

_Ta for now._

_-John_

_[Edit]_

_P.S. About the post title. If you think your case would be better present in person, our address is 221B Baker Street, London. Come during day time hours unless it's an emergency. Please don't forget any evidence, picture, or notes you think we'll need._


	3. The Blind Banker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey okay I know I said at some point this was gonna be a full rewrite, but I said that when I was MAD, and now I just don't care about BBC sherlock, and so I'm not gonna finish this, but I felt like I own you guys what I managed to get through, it's only half the blind banker I wrote it on my phone, and I didn't even try to edit it, sorry. I might come back to it one day, but I wouldn't hold your break.

Sherlock's sitting in his chair in the living room, his breathing only just evened out after an incredible fight with the assassin over a diamond right here in the flat, when he hears the front door open downstairs and then slam shut again. This is followed by the tell-tale sound of John stomping his way up the seventeen steps to their flat. Sherlock quickly grabbed a book and flips to a random page in an effort to look as if that's all he'd been doing since John left, because judging by the heaviness and speed with which John is trudging up the stairs, he's not having the usual trouble with his prosthetic, but rather is in a mood, and Sherlock really doesn't want to add to that by letting on that he'd had an exhilarating fight with an assassin over the fate of a diamond while John had been doing the shopping.

There's a pause once John enters the living room, and Sherlock doesn't have to look up to know that John, despite Sherlock's efforts to re-place everything as it had been, can tell that something's happened, and is searching for the evidence. It's one of first things that every attracted Sherlock to John, and about the only observational skilled John has, his ability to since, practically on instinct, the presence of dangerous people and situations and if only John would put in to effort to perfect, to master, this instinct he would truly be exceptional at it. But as it stands, today is not the day John will pick to prod at the nagging feeling in the back of his mind when he doesn't instantly find any proof of Sherlock's mischief, and before John can say anything, Sherlock says from behind his book “You took your time,” rather disinterestedly.

 

“Yeah, I didn’t get the shopping.” John says, aggravated.

 

“What? Why not?” Sherlock looks up over the top of his book to see that John's arms are in fact devoid of the shopping.

 

“Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine.” John answers at the same times Sherlock's brain is coming to the conclusion that John's bad mood stems from his lack of ability to have gotten the shopping, which could have been for a number of reason, but is most likely do to his card being declined, as his blogger has yet to get a job since overcoming a majority of his depression these last few months. But more importantly...

 

“You... you had a row with a machine?” Sherlock quirks an eyebrow up at John.

“Sort of.” John says, snippish, turning into the kitchen. “It sat there and I shouted abuse. Is your wallet still on the table- nevermind, I see it.”

 

“Did you shout abuse until it called you clever, too?” Sherlock let's his amusement at the image of John yelling at the chip-and-PIN machine in the middle of a crowded store, eventually become flustered and embraced seep into his voice as he teases his boyfriend.

 

“You could always go yourself, you know,” John says, ignoring the tease as he rifles through Sherlock wallet for the card he usually uses when it’s Sherlock’s turn to pay, because even when it's Sherlock's money, John still does all the work. “You’ve been sitting there all morning. You’ve not even moved since I left.”

 

Sherlock repressed the urge to correct John as he remembers the work out he'd gotten this morning, and he shuts his book and stands in defiance of John's accusations, as if to say ‘there I've moved, you've nothing against me now’. Then he realises, as he stands and his foot bumps it, that the assassin sword is still under his chair, and how did he miss that!? Disguising his kick of the sword farther under the chair as him taking a step, he walks into the kitchen.

 

“And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?” John asks, as he gives up his rifling and stuffs the entirety of Sherlock's wallet into his pocket to deal with later.

 

“Not interested,” the Detective dismisses with an eye roll, noticing a scratch across table, and covering it quickly with some of his notes for the experiment still set up on the table, hoping John won't notice it for a while yet. “I sent them a message.”

 

“Hmm,” John hums, unimpressed, walking into the living room and collapses into his chair. Sherlock has an irrational thought, brought on by his ridiculous but undeniably sentiment for John, that perhaps John leg or shoulder was bothering him today, but John's leg and shoulder have both been healed for months now, and John rarely ever complains about either. Then Sherlock realised that John was just being dramatic as an expression of his irritation, and relaxes.

“You really think it's the smartest idea to be turning down jobs like that?” John asks as he flips through their mail- a stack of bills Sherlock has been ignoring, as it's always been John's job to deal with the bills when he's home. “I'm broke. I'm going to have to find a job, you're probably well on your way if you keep turning down the jobs that pay- and the money people offer you on the free ones anyway.” John adds under his breath.

“Dull.” Sherlock says just to be contradictory, coming to take his seat across from John and slumping down ungracefully once more.

“Dull? How is what you do for excitement, dull?!” When Sherlock doesn't answer he goes on. “Well if you're not doing anything, you can accompany me to the store, C’mon.” John stands, headed for it stairs. Sherlock raises to follow without protest, because he's learning when to pick his battles, more or less, and this is not the time.

Sherlock spends the entire trip to the store following John up and down the aisles with his nose in his phone reading through his and John's email inbox, the one publicly advertised for clients on their blogs. He's searching for something both interesting enough for himself, which is impossible becsue none ofbtheae people know how to rate theor case, almost none desearve the high ratings theyre given in the slightest, and with a well enough offer of payment to satisfy John. By the time John's filled the buggy full of all the grocery and lead Sherlock into a line- not the one for self-service Sherlock notes without bothering you look up- the consulting detective has completely given up on finding anything that wasn't completely dull, and he’s now looking thought the ones offering the most money, deciding which will be the least miserable to deal with.

Sherlock has to pocket his mobile temporarily while he and John carry a copious number of bags on each of their arms out to the street. Sherlock suspects John did twice as much shopping as usually since he had Sherlock along to share the burden, and wait for a cab. Once they're in the cab, bags set carefully at their feet and between them, and in their laps so nothing breaks or gets squished- and God how tedious can this get- Sherlock pulls his phone back out and sees he has an email from an old acquaintance in his personal inbox.

Sebastian Wilkes, from Sherlock’s Uni days, is apparently offering a gracious sum of money if Sherlock can come by the bank he manages and deduce the who, how and why someone broke into one of their offices the night before and sprayed graffiti on the wall. There's more details about what's happened in the email, and Sherlock decides that despite his dislike of Sebastian, the case is intriguing, and John would be incredibly upset if he found out Sherlock turn the money away.

Sherlock tells John that he's gotten them a case, and after they've returned to Baker Street and put away all of the groceries, and John's forced Sherlock into eating “at least one sandwich Sherlock, you can't go into a case starving. I do not care what you say, it's not good for your thought process,” they hail another cab and get on their way, the strangely dark mood that had shrouded the morning completely gone now they've got some good news.

The meeting in Wilkes’ office dampens the couple’s good mood slightly, as Sebastian pisses John off by smugly insulting Sherlock, despite Sherlock introducing them as partners. They'd decided a while back this was more accurate than “Colleague and friend” and less personal than “This is my colleague, but also my boyfriend,” because it left room for interpretation for people with less open minds, and for people with more opens minds, but also more social grace, room to assume without wanting a make anything awkward by asking for clarification. But Sebastian should know all things considered, and of course Sherlock just does not like Sebastian to begin with, so it's a relief when the conversation move away from personal matters and towards business, and when Sebastian shows them to the scene of the crime.

After Sherlock's had a look at the wall, the security footage, and the layout of the trading floor, Sebastian tries to hand him a cheque. Sherlock waves him off as he turns to head back towards the trading floor. “I don't need incentive,” he says, despite the incentive of money being one of the reasons he came. “And John handles our money, give it to him.”

Sherlock hears a faint “My god...” of astonishment from John as he takes Sebastian’s cheque, and Sherlock does so believe John's annoying money troubles won't be bothering either of them for quite some time.

After another look at the vandalized wall, and a ridiculous dance across the trading floor, which John barely repressed the urge to film, they're turning around again and leaving, and really this is turning out to be an exhausting day for John's legs. Sherlock explain on the way out the door exactly who the message was for- one Edward Van Coon- and how he figured this out. While they're on their way to Van Coon’s apartment to question him, Sherlock speaks up about something entirely unexpected.

“When we're at the bank next, we should open a joint account.” He's not actually looking at John, so when the other man reply, it startles him into turning around.

“Wh-what?” John sputters.

Sherlock studies John, his tense posture revealing his surprise, and the expression on his face all but screaming his confusion.

“It would be so much easier than worrying about who's got enough money for what,” Sherlock explains clinically. “Besides, isn't that what couples do? We live together, have for some years as even when you were overseas you and I always said you lived wherever I was at the time. I have no intention of leaving you anytime soon, and I know you feel the same. Our only source of income is the consulting- unless you really plan to get a job in a clinic, but even then it hardly matters- so it would make it easier on the clients if they only needed to write one cheque, and easier on us then divvying the payments up every time they did.”

John is quiet for a moment before he says, “You've been thinking about this for a while have you?”

“No, I only came up with it in the bank. It seemed the logical choice,” Sherlock answers honestly. It didn't need thinking about. Once the idea was there, all the reasons why it was a good idea had easily followed.

“Hmm. So you're really not planning on leaving me anytime soon?” The humour in John's voice puzzles Sherlock. “Because joint bank account are usually what married couples do. Are you proposing, Love?”

“Wha- I- No!” Sherlock stampers in horror, then gathers himself and says, “Marriage is nothing more than words on paper, and vows to do this or that for the commitment of the relationship, whereas you and I have already, time and again, proven with actions that we intend to make this relationship work, which is much more meaningful on my opinion. I simply think a single bank account would be a better solution than you or I having to constantly figure out who has the money during any given week.”

John studies Sherlock for a moment and the detective wonders what he could possible be looking for, when John says, “I'll think about it,” with an enigmatic smile.

“What does that mean?” Sherlock asks, but John's turned away now, so he can't deduce anything other than that John thinks he's being funny.

“It means that I'll think about it.”

Well now John's just being ridiculous. It's obvious this is the only long term solution to their problem, even John should see that. What's there to think about?

Sherlock doesn't get much time in the cab to ponder over John's thought process for “thinking about it” because they arrive at Van Coon’s apartment building shortly thereafter. Sherlock gets them inside by pretending to be Van Coon and on the elevator ride up, John gets out first on Van Coon’s floor, leaving Sherlock to scale the balcony on his own. Sherlock's so instantly distracted by the number of deduction his brain charges him with once he's in Van Coon’s flat- he's very wealthy, he's left handed, very clean,- that he forgets he's meant to let John in until he hears the man shouting to be ‘let in already!”

Oops.

“Ah, there you've gone.” Sherlock says lightly as he open the door and steps aside for John. He quickly amends his mistake properly by allowing John the honor of shoulder-charging the locked bedroom door open.

Sherlock chides himself for forgetting that John is with him, and will be with him from now on while John is doing so. He's been so used to being alone on cases, because even though John always came with him while on leave, a majority of his time the idea of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson together was just an abstract idea, something rare you mostly talked about, but never really saw because John was always overseas. But he’d just been making a big deal in a cab ride over them being together, and then he'd left John in a hall like an idio- Oh, a dead body in a locked room! How exciting.

And just like that Sherlock's worries were flying out the window and he examined the body, and the rest of the flat, while John phones the Yard. Later, after Sherlock's basically done the Yard’s job or deducing Van Coon’s death to be a murder, not a suicide, and John has had to explain that yes John going through a stranger's dirty laundry is different than John going through Sherlock’s, for Christ’s Sake, the duo leave to explain to Sebastian everything they've got so far. Sebastian is as arrogant and unhelpful as ever, denying the murder and the subsequent threat to himself and his employees, and sends them on their way to “do the job they were hired for.”

They go home for the night instead. They spend the evening sitting together on a couch, Sherlock researching every kind of code he can find, looking for the symbols on the wall, and John half heartedly looking up local surgeries in need of a doctor. When he gets hungry, John makes dinner. He sets a plate near Sherlock, who hasn't moved for hours now, without expecting him to actually eat any of it, and goes to bed by himself when he gets tired. John tries to sleep. He curls the whole duvet around himself, a rare luxury, pulls Sherlock’s pillow under his head along with his own, and he couldn't be more comfortable, but he's had a busy day and his thoughts won't settle. Giving up trying to ignore his thought after a while, John moves on to sorting them out.

Well there's really only one thing still on his mind he needs to sort: what Sherlock had said earlier that day. When he'd proposed they get a joint bank account, he'd said some things that meant much more than what Sherlock had meant them to. He'd said he had no plans to leave John, and that he believed- or it seemed to John that he was saying he believed- they were more commented to each other than a married couple, because they showed it with actions and not with words. It was such a sentimental and loving thing to say, and that was the problem. Because John loves Sherlock very much, but Sherlock had said those things, not because he was being sweet, but because they were points towards his argument, and then he hadn't realised he was even being romantic after the fact. Really that wasn't even the problem either, that Sherlock hadn't cared about the sentiment behind the words, or that had he, he might have only said them go get what he wanted anyway.

The problem was, ultimately, that John found it funny and almost cute now, that Sherlock could say those things on accident, and never understand what he did, and it was setting a terrible precedent for their future. Before now, any time John was starting to get frustrated with Sherlock’s lack of concern for anyone else, he'd been able to tell himself it didn't matter because he'd be leaving eventually, he'd had an out, and he'd bottle up his frustration until they'd get in a shouting match, and then they'd sort it out. Or if it was nearing the end of John's stay Sherlock would take him on one of his farewell cases, and drive him to the base the next day, and kiss him goodbye, and John would wish I could stay. Either way he'd always been about to tell himself if it wasn't working out it didn't have a be permanent, which was stupid thinking about it now, because it had always been so completely permanent.

And now? Now he lives with Sherlock, and he was, unless it came to the worst, going to live with Sherlock for a rest of his life and he can't ever run away from that. And honestly that sounded really, really good, except that John didn't want Sherlock to come to the conclusion that they'd have to talk all their problems out eventually, and then decide the solution to avoiding that was to just running John around the city for an adrenaline fix any time he was upset with a Detective. He didn't want to one day not find Sherlock accidentally-sweet-while-he’s-trying-to-be-logical-ness to only bother him because John just wants Sherlock to be sweet for the sake of being sweet just once!

John realises here, that he's laying in bed alone thinking about how scared he is of not loving Sherlock one day, because he loves him so much right now, and he barks out a laugh. He's such a idiot. Yeah, one day, probably soon, they're going to get in a fight and they're going to have a talk it out. When that happens, John will remember to make them talk it out. When he's getting irritated at Sherlock, he'll make himself remember Sherlock's not going to notice right away, and he'll remember to tell Sherlock what he's doing that's bothering John before it's too much. And one day maybe that'll annoy him too much, but it doesn't now, and he resolves to leave it alone because everything is so good right now.

There are so many more things John could have a worry about, like cheating, and dishonesty, that other people have a deal with, but he knows already he doesn't have a worry about with Sherlock. There is absolutely nothing even going on between them now that should elicit worry. They had a fun day of crime solving, and running around, they did all the shopping- more that usually since John had an extra set of arms to haul the load this time- and Sherlock basically gave John his eternal devotion. John tells himself he's being an idiot once more, and with that, most of his worry is stomped out.

But not all of it, and after another half hour of not falling asleep- and it's probably approaching two am by now- he just sits up. Then, instead of calling Sherlock into the bedroom, because he both doubts his boyfriend is aware of his surroundings enough to hear, and because he just needs to move, he pulls the duvet off himself. He pulls the shrinker sock off of the remainder of his right leg, replaces it with the liner for the socket of his prosthetic and then puts it on. And all so he can haul the heavy duvet and both pillows out into the living room where Sherlock sits, still unmoved from his place on the couch scrolling rapidly down something he couldn't possibly be reading. Sherlock’s curled up to one side though, and that leaves plenty of room for John to prop the pillows against the other side, and sit down in order to remove the prosthetic once again.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asks without looking away from his laptop, which is precariously balanced on the top of his knees.

“Couldn't sleep, thought I'd keep you company,” John replies as he replaces the shrinker on his leg and lies down, facing the back of the couch and trying to get comfortable. “Put your legs down.”

“Well that's idiotic, I don't need company,” Sherlock argues as he obligingly lowers his legs to the floor and lifts his laptop so John can lay his left foot and the end of the duvet over the detective’s lap. Sherlock adjust his end of the blanket so it covers his own bare feet as well, and set his laptop down, partially on John's foot. “And this couch is much too uncomfortable for you, your back will hurt in a morning. Why didn't you just call me into to bedroom?”

“‘Cause you're busy and would have ignored me. I'm not putting my leg back on so unless you wanna carry me, shut up and get back to work,” John ends the discussion with that, smiling at Sherlock’s accidental concern, closing his eyes a burrowing deeper into the duvet.

Sherlock grumbles something which sounds dangerously close to “heavy leg”, but he starts typing on his laptop with no further complaints.

John's mind finally quiets down, so he doesn't bother to answer the grumbling with anything more than a soft “I love you.”

Sherlock’s stills for moment, then says “And I you, John,” a bit confused.

“I know,” say John, and Sherlock doesn't get a chance at questioning John on why he'd needed to bother saying it at all, because the man has fallen asleep just like that.

Sherlock watches John, completely distracted from the case now as only John can do, in favor of deducing the reason behind his boyfriends declaration. It seems an odd time to Sherlock, you see, for John to have said such a thing. They aren't the sort of couple that does so on just any given occasion, or to randomly blurt it out just to fill a silence. They didn't need to, they both knew it perfectly well, and it was senseless to become dependent on hearing the word rather that observing the proof. They only ever said it when the other had gone above and beyond to do something spectacularly romantic, or almost died, or else if they were trying to comfort the other in some way. Sherlock has done neither of the first two, and he certainly doesn't need comforting, so he wonders about it.

Possibly John is the one in need of comfort, and was attempting to prompt Sherlock into providing the needed comfort by saying it first? But that really didn't sound like John. It was too complicated, and too deceptive, so no. That wasn't it.

But he still hadn't almost dead any time in the recent past, the incident with the cabbie notwithstanding. He'd suffered a lecture that night for that for his trouble, but the honor, if one could call it that, of nearly dieing on the other still belonged undoubtedly to John.

So that left the improbable- and the frankly ridiculous- idea that Sherlock had done something spectacularly romantic. But what? He knows it had to be something John wouldn't have commented on at the time, or else he would have, and Sherlock would know what he'd done. So it had to be something that upon reflection, had been more that it's intent. But what could John have been thinking about in bed at two a.m. that resulting in the desire to put forth the required effort it took to get from the bed to here to “keep him company” and say “I love you”? What could possibly rationalize such confusing behavior.

And then Sherlock remember earlier that day when he'd proposed the joint account, and John had said “he'd think about” and been utterly confusing.

Well the middle of the night’s certainly a Hell of a time to think about it John, Sherlock chides silently to himself. Especially when you're the one that needs sleep to function during cases, you absolutely hypocrite.

Though thinking back on that cab ride himself, Sherlock remembers John’s joke about a marriage proposal. Sherlock supposes his totally logical reply, when viewed by such a romantic as John was, could have been construed as romantic itself, if he'd meant it that way. But he's sure John knows he didn't. 

But John would still see it that way, obviously, and Sherlock had meant everything he said, just not that way at that time. He wasn't going to leave John, and because of how long they'd been together and everything they'd already worked through, he was confident enough in himself to know John wasn't going to leave him. And he did consider the way the expressed their love to be much more impactful than just saying it.

So… he'd been spectacularly romantic today. Well… good. That was. Good. Progress, right? Doing those sort of thing accidently was supposed to be good? Though, the delayed realisation, that was, problematic at best…

Well, still, he tries to cheer himself up by thinking. He did know one more, very important, thing for certain. John was definitely going to agree to the joint account.

\-----

John wakes up late the next morning to the sound of Sherlock shouting there's been another murder. He has a candy bar and some clean clothes tossed at him as he sit up, and then they're out the door. They bounce around the city for the rest of the morning, going from New Scotland Yard to the victim’s- Brian Lukis’- flat, to the library in which Lukis had been the day before, and where they found more threatening cyphers behind a bookcase. There's a brief stop back home in order for Sherlock to run through the gathered evidence again, and add the new picture of the library cypher to mirror next to its companion from the bank before they're gone again, this time on their way to meet with an apparent painting expert who turns out to be...

RAZ the street artist, of course. John's not sure if Sherlock was being smart or incredibly stupid by not tell John beforehand who they were going to meet, because had he know it was RAZ, he definitely would have stayed behind.

“Part of a new exhibition.” RAZ says smugly, as they approach, adding more spray paint to the image of a pig-nosed police officer he's defacing the building with.

 

“Interesting.” Sherlock says with blatant disinterested.

 

“I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy.” RAZ chuckles to himself.

 

“Catchy.” John drawled sarcastically.

 

“Hey, Watson!” RAZ’s smile turns into a wolfish grin. “Nice to see you've made it back! I’ve got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner, you wanna take the fall for this one too mate?”

“No.” John replies shortly, crossing his arms, because he really doesn't like RAZ, but apparently they need his help again.

“Ah, worth a shot. What can I do for you Mr. Holmes?”

 

Sherlock pulls out his phone from his coat pocket and now hands it to RAZ when the artist turns around. RAZ makes to toss one of the spray cans at John first, but stops short when he sees John’s crossed arms and equally cross expression. He huffs a laugh, and drops bother spray cans into his bag. RAZ takes Sherlock’s phone and scrolls through the pictures of the yellow ciphers from Sir William's office and the library.

 

“Know the author?” Sherlock asks.

 

“Recognise the paint. It’s like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I’d say zinc.” RAZ answers oh-so professionally.

 

“What about the symbols: do you recognise them?”

 

Sherlock talks with RAZ for another minute, impressing upon him the gravity of the situation and just managing to get him to agree to keep an eye out when the officers RAZ had mentioned earlier rounded the corner, sending the three of them scattering. The cops chase them for quite a ways, one splitting off to chase RAZ, and one continuing to chase Sherlock and John. The officer gives a good effort too, chasing the detective and his soldier for three blocks before they lose him by ducking around a corner and into and busy little cafe. John tries to insist they stop for and while and have lunch at the cafe once they're sure the officer isn't going to come back around, but Sherlock insists much more convincingly that they're too busy before pulling John out the door.

They're busy enough apparently to warrant splitting up, because Sherlock send John off to the police station to collect Lukis’ thing in order retrace his steps, while Sherlock goes back to the bank to talk with Van Coon’s assistant. When John gets his hands on the diary, he sends Sherlock a text threatening he'll hid the journal if he not allowed to eat, and when Sherlock quickly concedes, John texted him the pictures. They meet up in Chinatown, where John still isn't allowed to eat, because he's quickly whisked into the little tourist shop where both Van Coon and Lukis has gone the day of their deaths.

They find the cypher on the underside of a ceramic cup.

“Why did you buy that thing?” Sherlock says while they're sitting in a small restaurant,staking out the shop from across the street. The little cat sites on the table, waving innocently at him from next to John's plate of well deserved food.

“I dunno,” John laughs. “You don't like him?”

“No, it's just, turn it around. It's distracting.”

“Mhhm, sure.” John says, dutifully hiding the cat behind the napkin dispenser, so that it's out of Sherlock’s view. “So walk me through it, what have you come up with, now you know where they've been and you got the cypher.”  
\---

John can't climb up the ladder into Soo Lin Yao’s flat and they both know it, so when Sherlock fails, yet again, to open up the front door, it set John off a little bit, and has him yelling through the mail slot. That doesn't mean I doesn't notice, or doesn't care, when Sherlock comes through the door all croaky

“I'm fine,” the detective insisted, noticing a folded envelope on the ground. “There was someone still in there looking for Soo Lin, which means whoever she is, she knows something.”

“Wait, were you being choked?” John asks, reaching out to pull Sherlock's collar down, examining his throat as Sherlock reads over the note, and the name of the museum on with the note was written. “Are you sure you're alright, you have a tell of your having trouble breath, right now Sherlock.”

“I'm fine, John,” the detective insisted, his voice a little stronger now. He grabs John hand away from his collar, I pulls in into a jog. “We've got to go to the museum, now!”

“What, why!?”

“I'll explain in the cab!”

At the museum they get confirmation that Soo Lin knew something about the deaths of Lukis and Van Coon, or at least about the one that had committed the murders, in the form of bright yellow paint across the face of a statue in the museum archives. RAZ finds them leaving the museum and leads them across the Hungerford Bridge into a skate park were more of the yellow symbols are already being covered by other artists tags.

It was already dark by the time they'd left the museum, and by the time John finds wall of Chinese symbols, he's tired, and sore, and ready for a rest. So when Sherlock doesn't answer his phone on the first try, John simply sends him the photo of the wall with the message ‘answer your phone you idiot’ before trotting off to find the detective.

When the couple get back to Baker Street, John makes no pretence of trying to stay wake, laying out on the couch where their duvet and pillows are still laying from a night before, and instructing Sherlock to wake him only when he's needed and not a moment before.

John wakes up hours later to Sherlock curling up on the couch behind him. The flat is completely dark save the street lights filtering in through the window, and the dim hall light they almost never turn off.

“Hmmmm?” John murmurs, a little annoyed, which he knows Sherlock will understand to mean ‘There's a case on, why are you sleeping?’

Sherlocks arms encircle johns waist under the covers and he rest his forehead against the back of John's neck.

“I’ll explain in the morning. It doesn't matter now.” Sherlock answers back, and John, though he knows something's happened, is content enough with that to drifts back to sleep.

In the morning Sherlock explains, while John eats breakfast and Sherlock searches through a slew online auctions, the events of the night before, which had taken place after John had fallen asleep. Sherlock had spent a few hours pacing the living room trying to figure out the cypher before coming to the unfortunate conclusion that he would need Soo Lin Yao, who'd been threatened with the cypher and gone into hiding, was the only chance of deciphering the cypher in anything resembling a timely manner. He says he'd debated waking John but decided against it due to the long day and the late hour, and the assumption that nothing of note would happen at the museum. He apologies to John of course, when the soldier tells him off- with no real force behind the words- that he should have woken him up anyway, he really doesn't appreciate being left behind so constantly on this case.

Sherlock continues the story by detailing the events that had happened at the museum after he'd realised that Soo Lin was not only still in London, but still in the museum. He'd gotten the explanation of her connection with the smugglers, apparently having been one herself at a younger age. And them, with a slight bit of hesitance, Sherlock tell John that the gunman, her own brother, came for her, and he was only about to distract them for so long, chasing him through the museum and away from Soo Lin, before they caught on and rounded back towards the archives where the young woman was hiding.

“And Dimmock still thought Van Coon and Lukis are suicides, to top it all off.” Sherlock finished, finally taking a stab at the eggs John has made him.

“Is that why you slept with me last night? Are you sure you're okay?” John asks. “You know it’s-”

“Not my fault, I do know.” Sherlock interrupts. “Except it is, on some level John, and I plan on rectifying my mistake by catching Soo Lin’s killer.

“I went to the morgue after that with Dimmock,” Sherlock cuts off any more of John's concern by jumping back into the story. “And we found that both men had the mark of the Black Lotus, thus proving their connection to Soo Lin, and that their deaths were murders. He offered me whatever I wanted in order to help solve the case. Every book owned my Van Coon and Lukis should be here sometime today.”

John sputters, quickly swallowing his mouthful. “And- and how many books is that going to be exactly!?”

“Oh I don't know. Several crates full, at least.” Sherlock turns his laptop around to show John what he’s found on one of the auction site. “Here look at this. Anonymous. Vendor doesn’t give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East. Chinese Ming vases.”

They take a moment to look through Lukis’ or Van Coon’ journals and the auction site, comparing dates. Every date in which an anonymous vendor donated something rare and chinese, Lukis had recently returned from overseas.

“Well that's further proof they work for the Black Lotus. But we already know that, so what are you thinking?” John asks

“One of them got greedy stole something.” Sherlock answers, but before he can say more, Mrs. Hudson comes up the stairs, informing them that Dimmock, and some other men from The Yard were here with their several crates full of books. The couple has to spend the next little while rearranging their living room so as to fit everything within, in loo of actually helping hauling all the crates up the steps- John for more obvious reasons, and Sherlock, well, because it was either help rearrange or help carry crates.

“You know,” says Mrs. Hudson from the doorway, as one of the last crates is being set on the floor. “There's another bedroom upstairs.”

“Why would be need two bedrooms?” Sherlock asks, looking vaguely offended at her as he pauses in opening one of the crates labeled “Van Coon” and pulling the books out.

“Space dear. You've made an even bigger mess of the living room than usually. I thought you might turn it into an office for this sort of thing, if you'd like.” Mrs. Hudson shoots back. “Don't go getting all offended, I'm not insulting the state of your marriage.”

“John and I aren't married.” Sherlock shoots back, just to be contradictory.

“He did propose though,” John says jokingly.

“What?” exclaims Mrs. Hudson excitedly.

“I did not!” Sherlock protests at the same time. “I proposed a joint bank account not a marr-”

“Excuse me!” A voice interrupts from the stairwell behind Mrs. Hudson. It one of the men carrying a crate and from the way hes straining it looks like he might have been standing there for a while waiting for them to notice. “Where are we taking these then?”

Sherlock looks down at the books he's already pulled out, then to John, and the both say together “Upstairs.”

Once the living room was put back together, and their new office jampacked with crates, much to the displeasure of the men who'd carries most into the living already, Dimmock hands over a evidence bag full of photos from Soo Lin’s crime scene, which sherlock had requested, as John hadn't been there the night before, and then the boys are left to it.

“So where do you want to start?” John asks from the desk chair as Sherlock sits on the floor and began unloading books yet again. John takes the photos out and sets the out on the desk to look over. There's one of the body, a young girl shot in the head at pointblank range. One of her desk, were papers are scattered, and teapot sites. One was of an open vent in the floor. Then here was a glossy copy of the picture John had taken the other night by the tramway, which Sherlock had taken to the museum last night.

“First we find all of the books they had in common,” Sherlock answers. “Then we see if whichever word is the first on page fifteen seems like a reasonable single word message to have left for Van Coon and Lukis. Most likely it will be a simple threat.”

The picture in John's hand has writing on it, two words over the first two set of chinese numbers.

“Or we could use the picture from the tram.” John says, realises what he was seeing was that Soo Lin has started to translate the message. He passes it to Sherlock. “Just flip through to those two pages and see if they match right?”

Sherlock reads the two lone words. “ She must have started translating while the shooter was chasing me… Nine million quid... For what, though?”

John chokes a little, “Nine million?”

“Damnit,” Sherlock mutters furiously reach up hastily. “Quickly, pass me the photographs.”

John does so without question. “What are you looking for?”

“The book; the key to the cipher. She had to have it. It had to be sitting right there on her desk, and I didn't even notice!” The consulting detective shuffles through the photos until he finds the one of her work desk. There are three on her desk, only two of which the titles are visible, one is a book on ancient chinese artifacts, one is a copy of a chinese romance novel, the last is open, hiding the title from site, and none of words on the page are legible in the photo graph. Sherlock determine in half a second that the book they need, they need but with nothing more to go on, and Soo Lin’s things likely already long cleared from the desk, they're left with matching books from both men's collections and flipping through the pages.

They spent hours up there together sorting and searching, because not only do both of the dead men have almost identical book collections, but they have extensively large collection. John takes more frequent breaks then Sherlock through out the day, but they both manage to work their way through a fair amount of the books by the evening, when Sherlock flips closed the book in front of him, that, surprise surprise, is not the one used to decipher the code.

**Author's Note:**

> I know there's a lot of spelling errors, I typed this on my phone an it's got a lot of opinions with auto correct, and I have a hard to fixing it (seriously it changed like three things in this message alone) so I'll fix them later. Sorry
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> **  
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> _Don't forget to comment!!!_  
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